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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23932090">untitled/ desert night</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaries/pseuds/zaries'>zaries</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe - Benjamin Alire Sáenz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Recreational Drug Use</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:08:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,548</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23932090</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaries/pseuds/zaries</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This takes place about five years after the end of the book. My concept for it is that they’re together, both pursuing art (Dante as a painter, Ari as a poet), and preparing to move to Mexico for a year for Ari to pursue a poetry fellowship. this is their last night in Texas before the move.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aristotle Mendoza/Dante Quintana</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>untitled/ desert night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dante and I drive out to the desert together and I park us in a new spot. I like to drive through the desert without worrying if I get lost, just wind my truck through the bushes and cacti. I don’t even think I care if I get lost. I know we’ll find our way back eventually. And if we don’t, well I think I am happy to be lost forever with Dante. </p>
<p>Dante’s singing softly in the passenger seat to a new cassette he gave me. He’s already lit one of our joints, holding it gently between his fingers as the smoke drifts lazily out the open window. </p>
<p>“I love the desert,” I say. “I love the stars, I love the night.” </p>
<p>Dante turns his head to me, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I love you,” he says. Sometimes I think the constellations in the desert sky above us are reflected directly in Dante’s eyes. </p>
<p>Dante opens the passenger door and starts to step out. </p>
<p>“Wait!” I say, making him jump a little. I open my door and run outside, over to Dante’s side as quickly as I can. Then, I pick him up and hold him in my arms bridal style, like we just got married. Dante wraps his arms around my neck. I awkwardly manage to kick the car door closed before I spin Dante around, him giggling into my neck. “Mi amor…” I say. </p>
<p>I carry him to the back of the truck and set him down on the edge of its bed as gently as I can. Dante parts his legs slightly, giving me room to stand between them. I look at his face, his lips, his messy hair, the dried paint splattered up and down his arms. I press kisses to all of it. </p>
<p>“Ari,” Dante says, “Ari, Ari.” He’s playing with my long hair, threading his hands through it and twisting strands around his fingers. I think he’s a little bit high from the joint. I laugh at him and he laughs back. Our laughter sounds louder in the desert, merging together until I can’t tell whose voice belongs to who. </p>
<p>“I’m so proud of you,” Dante tells me. </p>
<p>I don’t know what to say back to him, so I just say “te amo.” I think I can feel my cheeks flushing in embarrassment. I look down. </p>
<p>Dante snorts. “You’ve always been so bad at accepting other people’s admiration of you.” He hooks his legs around my waist and pulls us closer together. “I am proud of you, even if you don’t know what to do with that. I think you’re the most wonderful and beautiful man alive, and I think you’re too humble for your own good.” </p>
<p>He smiles, so I smile back at him. I can’t tell if it’s the reflection of the night stars in his eyes or if his eyes just look like they might contain the galaxy within them. He pushes a hand on the back of my head gently, bringing me closer to him. Then he presses his warm lips to mine, and we kiss softly over and over. I have never gotten tired of Dante kissing me. He is my home, I have told him. In his arms I feel free, and in his kiss I feel all the love of the universe pour into me and back into him. So I kiss him now, his hands tangling in my hair, his legs circling around me. And we kiss and kiss until I get tired of standing. </p>
<p>“I’m tired of standing,” I tell Dante. </p>
<p>“Then come join me up here,” he says. He scoots back, grabbing my hand, and we climb into the bed of the truck. I pull out pillows and blankets from the trash bags we brought along. I toss a couple blankets onto the floor to cover the cold metal. </p>
<p>We lay together, propped up by the pillows. Dante flings a leg over mine and snuggles impossibly close to my side. He lights the joint and takes a hit, holds the smoke in his lungs, and releases it with a contented sigh. I wrap my arm around his shoulders. We look up at the stars. I think this spot here in the middle of the desert might be the most beautiful place in the entire universe. Though I think I’ve said that about every secluded place in the desert that Dante and I make our own. </p>
<p>Dante passes me the joint, and I take a hit. The smoke feels nice in my lungs. I feel nice out here, in my favorite place, with the beautiful night sky watching us from above and with Dante, mi cielo, in my arms. We’re quiet for a bit, passing the joint back and forth, and gazing at the stars. I feel warm and comfortable, from the desert air or the joint or Dante’s soft body, I’m not sure. </p>
<p>Dante reaches his hand, his beautiful artist’s hand stained with charcoal and paint, to my face and tucks a strand of my long hair behind my ear as I inhale from our joint. As he moves his hand away, he brushes his fingertips against my face, down my cheek and jaw, down my neck gently, down my chest and finally resting on my stomach. </p>
<p>“You’re going to miss it here,” Dante says softly. I don’t think he means it as a question, and then I think that he knows me more than I thought anybody ever could. </p>
<p>I take another hit before answering. “I am going to miss it. I love this desert.” I look into Dante’s eyes. “There are a lot of memories I hold fondly that exist because of this desert.” </p>
<p>Dante smiles at me and plucks the joint out of my fingers. “There will be some beautiful deserts in México. And lots of opportunities to create new memories. Maybe some of the best memories of our lives.” </p>
<p>I smile back, because I can’t help but smile when he does, though I think it comes off as a little sad instead. Dante’s eyebrows wrinkle in the way they tend to do when he’s worried. “Qué tienes en mente, mi vida?” he asks gingerly. </p>
<p>That does make me smile a bit more genuinely, and a burst of emotion flows through my heart. Dante has come such a long way in embracing his Mexican identity since we first met all those years ago. His Spanish isn’t perfect yet, but when he speaks to me in Spanish, I can feel the vulnerability he’s displaying. He’s afraid of what he internalized as a kid, that he’s not a real Mexican, not Mexican enough. It makes him scared to display his identity to others. I don’t think that I can ever express to him how deeply grateful I am that he’s allowed me to see this vulnerable, hidden side of his. It makes me feel trusted, loved. And all from the man who I would lay my life before. I’ve never felt more loved in my life. </p>
<p>“Dante.” I sigh and trace my hand gently through his hair. “I know… I know you’ll say I’m wrong, but I can’t help but feeling a bit guilty. Feeling like I’m taking you away from your life here, uprooting you to live in México with me for the next year.” </p>
<p>“You are my life here,” Dante responds. He’s so stubborn. </p>
<p>“But- I mean, it’s a big life change. And you’ve been doing such great things with your art here, and you have your connections from art school and so many opportunities here, I just-“ </p>
<p>“Ari,” Dante cuts me off. “You would never force me to do something that I don’t want to do. And what I want most of all in my life is to be with you. Plus, going to México is an amazing opportunity for my art. I’ll get to spend a year in a completely new and beautiful place, focusing solely on making art, living with el amor de mi vida…” He sets down the stub of the finished joint and wraps both arms around my torso. “Please don’t worry about me, Ari,” he says. “I’m so happy to be going on this journey with you. Te amo, para siempre.” </p>
<p>I figure I can’t say much more on this subject. Dante really does have a talent for winning every fight we get into, even before the fight manifests at all. So instead of saying anything, I kiss him. And it seems like every time we start kissing, it’s hard to ever stop. So we keep kissing, and Dante’s on top of me, and his mouth is so warm, and I feel like I’m breathing underwater. </p>
<p>All I can sense is the desert air entering my lungs, Dante’s comforting weight on me, the faint sound of small creatures existing in our desert along with us, the warm night air, and even the light of the moon touching our skin, although my eyes remain closed. I pull back slightly, overwhelmed with sensation, but I keep my forehead pressed against Dante’s, my hands gently cupping his cheeks. </p>
<p>“How are you feeling about the move, amor? Estas contento?” Dante asks me. </p>
<p>“Sí.” I trace swirling lines softly on Dante’s back. He sighs gently and rests his head on my chest. </p>
<p>“You’re going to do such amazing things with your poetry,” he says. </p>
<p>“And you with your art, mi amor.” </p>
<p>“Did you ever think we’d be here?” Dante asks. “In this position… moving to México for a year to make our art…” He feels so relaxed in my arms, and I feel like our bodies are practically melting together. Maybe it’s the weed. Maybe it’s a side effect of gazing at the enormity of the universe above us, molding us as one with the warm darkness of the night air. I trace lines, words on Dante’s back. I could write millions of poems about Dante in this moment. I could write poems about him every day that I live. Usually I do. </p>
<p>“Four, five years ago, I don’t think I ever would have believed I’d be a poet. Still sitting in your room, reading some of your shitty poetry books with you, yeah, that would’ve been believable.” </p>
<p>“Hey,” Dante laughs. “My poetry books aren’t shitty!” </p>
<p>I laugh with him. “No, no. I mean, maybe a couple that you had in high school. Some of them were a little shitty.” </p>
<p>Dante laughs for so long I can’t even keep track of time. When Dante laughs, I laugh, and we’re laying in the back of my truck laughing our heads off yet again. No one else in the galaxy can make me smile or laugh the way Dante does. I don’t know how he does it. It’s another secret of the universe, but I’m getting better at being okay with all the universe’s mysteries. </p>
<p>“Well, if it weren’t for me, maybe you never would have discovered your love for poetry. Reading all that ‘shitty’ poetry over the summers really had its impact on you, you know.” </p>
<p>Dante says it like he’s joking, a mischievous glint dancing through his words, but he’s more right than he knows. </p>
<p>“You’re right,” I tell him. “You are my reason for writing poetry. You introduced me to poetry, you taught me to love it. And you gave me the love and freedom to spur me to write my own.” </p>
<p>“Am I your muse?” he asks, smirking the way he does with his playful glint in his eyes, corners of his mouth twitching slightly like he’s preparing himself to crack up again at one of his jokes. </p>
<p>This time, though, I don’t bite. “Yeah, you are,” I tell him with complete sincerity. </p>
<p>I run a hand slowly through his hair. I swallow. Despite all of the poetry I write now, the ways I feel I can capture and manipulate words on paper, I still have such a hard time expressing myself, saying what I really feel. Sometimes I think my own soul, or maybe everyone’s souls, really, cannot be described in words. I don’t write poetry thinking that it explains what I feel. But I think it’s the closest we can get using the feeble tools of language we have to describe the universe. </p>
<p>“Do you remember the first poem I ever wrote?” I ask Dante. </p>
<p>His eyebrows ruffle together as he thinks. “Hm… Was it one from your family series? About your brother, or no, the poem you wrote for your mom? Now that you bring it up, I don’t think I can remember. In a way, it’s hard to remember a time when you weren’t writing poetry all the time.” </p>
<p>I smile, look up at the stars to find Ursa Minor. Once I can see it, I tighten my arms around Dante and speak. </p>
<p>“Not quite,” I say. “The very first poem I ever wrote was about you.” </p>
<p>“Me?” he asks doubtfully. “Surely I would remember that, Ari.” </p>
<p>“Well, maybe you wouldn’t,” I say. “Because I never showed you this one.” </p>
<p>“What!” He pushes my shoulder lightly. “Why not!” </p>
<p>“Because it just felt too personal. It was very vulnerable of me to write a poem at all, you know, let alone a poem about a boy I had fallen in love with. It was scary, but that’s why I needed to write it, to finally let it all out, to acknowledge it.” </p>
<p>Dante’s quiet, but I can tell he’s thinking over my words. I feel the kind gaze of his eyes on me as I stare at the stars. </p>
<p>“Ari,” he murmurs, voice hardly above a whisper. Again, “Ari.” </p>
<p>I meet his gaze, and he’s smiling softly at me. “Thank you, Ari,” he says. </p>
<p>I think, for a fleeting moment, of asking him what for, but I know he won’t give me a straight answer, and I don’t really need an answer, anyway. Knowing Dante, it could be a thank you for writing your first poem about me, thank you for telling me now even though you didn’t have to,  thank you for knowing me enough to be able to write a poem at all. </p>
<p>And I want to say thank you back, thank you for introducing me to poetry, for helping me fall in love with it, thank you for inspiring me to write that poem, for helping me fall in love with you, thank you for being here with me right now, in my arms, in our desert, in the world, thank you for being the only person I trust deeply enough to write all this poetry about and still feel the desperate craving to write more…  </p>
<p>Thank you for allowing me to merge your life with yours, for supporting my dreams before I even knew what they were, for trusting me enough to move to México with me, thank you for giving me the sense of belonging that had been absently itching under my skin for my whole life. </p>
<p>I don’t know how to say all of this right now, so I say something I must have said a million times at this point and know I’ll say again maybe a million times every day for the rest of my life. </p>
<p>“I love you, Dante Quintana.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I started writing this awhile ago after I finished reading the book, and I finally decided to finish it. btw... my Spanish is not great so if there's a phrase that seems Off, feel free to let me know. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thank you for reading :^)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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